


Dream Team

by Edwardina



Series: Parks and Colferstreet [1]
Category: Glee RPF, Parks and Recreation
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-26 00:04:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edwardina/pseuds/Edwardina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crossover with Parks and Recreation in which Ron Swanson's assistant has a crush on the shoe-shine boy, Mouse Rat plays The Bulge, and there's inappropriate behavior between co-workers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream Team

**Author's Note:**

> So Kate and I kept making jokes about Chord Overstreet coming off like a weird mix of Chris Traeger and Andy Dwyer, and I said it made me want a Parks and Rec AU where Chris was the unenthusiastic assistant and Chord the derpalicious shoe-shinist. When "Beautiful Girl" leaked and I heard that "you're an angel with a body" lyric it reminded me so much of Andy's "April, you're like an angel with no wings" line, all this was just a given.
> 
> Much thanks to Kate for inspiration and support, and for an awesomesauce graphic which made me cry a lot. (And for Chris's Scrabble word.) Also much thanks to Lucy for the super-helpful beta!

Pioneer Hall.

Leslie Knope is wearing a purple stretch headband and a side ponytail.

"Since the weather's getting warm out, my boss Chris Traeger and I decided to kick off a little department-wide weight loss initiative! It's a competition. The person who sheds the most weight wins an all-expenses-paid trip to Indianapolis to see the Indy 500. It's a really big deal."

In his office, Ron Swanson is doing bicep curls with an old-fashioned looking set of iron weights, expression stoic, eyes fixed upon the wall. He's replaced his framed picture of breakfast food with one of a Pennzoil-decked yellow race car. Andy and Chord are seated on his bench, sans shirts, each of them with their own weights in hand. Together they're all heaving and grunting. It's very manly.

Chris, whose desk is right next to Ron's office, finds it immensely distracting.

"Actually," Leslie continues, "this is the second kick-off. The first one, in January, didn't go so well."

Ann, Donna, and Chris all decided to do a month of Zumba together, and Ron, Andy, and Chord took up hiking three times a week. Leslie did both, and also went running with Chris Traeger on Saturday mornings.

Results were mixed. Leslie had started to rival Chris Traeger's obsession with exercise but couldn't quit J.J.'s Diner, and had secretly fallen back on Sweetums Nutriyum Bars for energy, which had resulted in a total spin-out and an intervention organized by Ann. Chord, who was already muscular and in perfect shape, was regularly asked to take his shirt off and flex by Chris Traeger, who told him he _literally_ had the most perfect abdominals he had _ever seen_. Donna dropped a dress size. Jerry jumped on his mini-trampoline at home alone... and gained weight. Tom didn't need to lose any weight, anyway.

"In the end, a winner was never declared because of that whole issue with the raccoon and the wiring, my brief visit to the hospital, and that whole thing about Casey Anthony being spotted in Maplewood Park. It wasn't really her. Don't worry, everybody! Don't want to get that rumor started again. Like, isn't three times enough?"

After a rec center taekwondo class, Chord and Andy play some friendly basketball at one of the courts at Maplewood. A plastic sign stuck next to the wooden sign says, "The Pawnee Department of Parks and Recreation has declared Maplewood Park and Recreation Center a Casey Anthony-free Zone." Chris, Ron, and April all wind up watching on the sidelines, still in their white taekwondo uniforms.

Ron can't take the fumbling and dribbling; his youth basketball league was better. He must demonstrate the proper form for a free throw.

Andy's fifty-fifty on it.

Chord sucks.

"Nya-hah, dude! That means I win," says Andy.

As everyone else heads back to the station wagon, Andy with his arms slung around April, Chris tentatively pulls the basketball from under loser's lurgy Chord's arm.

"I want to try."

He emulates Ron's instructions as best he can remember, pausing when Chord says, "Elbows tucked. Like this. Keep them pointed down," and unthinkingly grabs at Chris's biceps so he can situate Chris's arms.

"Oh, okay," says Chris, luckily not just dropping the ball again. "Got it."

Chord steps back. "Go for it."

And despite the heat in his face and basically all odds, some kind of magic – your basic beginner's luck, probably – roots Chris to the ground, pulses in his arms, and guides the ball in a mathematically perfect arc through the air and through the basket. The net swishes gently.

Chord lets out a whoop and high-fives him, but their hands grapple into an awkward bro-shake while Chris jumps, excited. It lasts a couple of seconds too long, so teasingly, Chris turns the clasp of their palms into a fist-bump. Chord enthusiastically mashes his knuckles into Chris's.

"Are you two done flirting?" Ron calls at them.

They jerk apart, the celebratory grab-and-jab suddenly seeming so unnecessary.

"This isn't flirting," Chris blurts.

Chord shakes his head, looking uncomfortable for a moment but finally landing on a smile. "No, I know that."

Back in her office, Leslie's diplomatically optimistic.

"We hope it will go better this time. It's getting down to the wire now, and I haven't had a single Nutriyum bar. I'm four months sober." She holds up a chip that has a gold seal, with, like, an eagle on it, that says _FOUR MONTHS!_ But around the rim it says _WAMAPOKE CASINO_. "I made this myself. But it's very official. I gotta be on my game. It's the Indy 500, people!"

***

It's lunchtime, and April is sitting on Chris's desk as he eats his low-fat strawberry Yoplait, looking at one of his magazines. She makes him slightly nervous, so he's happy to have an arsenal of distractions at the ready and a Scrabble board up on his computer screen.

"So are you going to The Bulge tonight?" she asks him.

"What's going on at The Bulge besides... the obvious?"

"Mouse Rat's gig, duh. God, Chris! Don't be such a Jerry."

Chris sticks his spoon in his mouth mischievously. Across the room, Jerry frowns at his too-small desk.

*

It's springy outside; pollen's dancing its way across the courtyard and gathering in the corners and under the tables.

"I really don't go to The Bulge. Surprisingly enough. I mean, I know it's pretty much the only place in Pawnee I'm ever going to meet someone, but..."

Chris shrugs forcefully.

Out the window, Chord's sweeping up with a comically large broom. It won't fit in the corner or under any of the chairs.

*

"It's going to be amazing. Instead of a beach ball we're going to bat a big inflatable penis into the crowd. Everybody's invited. Except for Jerry."

April's staring Jerry down unnervingly, and after a few beats he submits and hastily gets back to his paperwork.

It's really awesome that no one at work cares that Chris is gay. It's a government job, however low on the ladder, so it's the opposite of what Chris expected when he took the job in the first place. There was never any time where Chris was even slightly closeted. Not that he's ever really been closeted in his life, but he'd been prepared for a "don't ask, don't tell" kind of situation. But everybody knows. Ron believes he should be whatever he damn well wants, which was kind of surprising since he's got a really Republican moustache. Tom's only disappointment is that Chris prefers to shop at Target over Armani and doesn't own a pocket square. Leslie even wants to celebrate Chris's sexuality. Like, in ways Chris isn't quite ready for yet.

When Chris had finally turned twenty-one, Leslie decked out the entire office in rainbow flags, and then took him on his first – and so far, only – trip to The Bulge, where she got up on its tiny stage, toasted him in front of everyone, then proceeded to cock-block any guy who tried to come up to him and wish him a happy birthday. She loudly told him the backstory on her picture hanging on the wall (something about officiating penguin marriages), made him dance with her to Madonna and loved it so much she yelled, "Material Girl! Material Girl!!" at the DJ for the rest of the night in effort to recreate it, drunk-dialed Ann Perkins to chide her for not coming, and took pictures with her phone of the both of them all night to send to her boyfriend. Donna had showed up and introduced him to her cousin Tyrone, but Leslie had shouted, "Back off, Tyrone! You're ruining my party pics!"

He'd driven her home and put her to bed and had spent the night on her couch under a granny square throw she had crocheted herself. It was not exactly anything Chris had expected of turning twenty-one, but that's turning out to be par for the course with Chris's life in Pawnee.

Chris works in the Parks and Recreation department.

Technically he's Ron Swanson's assistant, a role which April apparently originated with great fanfare. Her name is carved into the desk and there's a plaque and everything – Leslie loves plaques. Chris had initially been disenchanted with the position. He'd been hired as an assistant by Leslie during her run for office, and would be a lot more suited to being her assistant here. They love all the same things: office supplies, official titles, memos, being wildly productive, multi-tasking, public speaking, writing op-ed pieces. But as he stayed on as Ron Swanson's assistant, for the most part Chris is paid to sit at a desk and write on his screen play and novel and every now and then design a flyer or something for a committee meeting.

Some days he hates it. Some days he loves it.

While back-seating his energies had stifled his creativity and depressed him at first, now the office is kind of where he goes to make headway on his various writing projects and keep his ear to the ground for opportunities to rise through the ranks of the Pawnee government. Some days he can't get any writing on his various projects done because Leslie's got him out shopping for extremely specifically-themed party supplies or Ron's got meetings and is bringing him along, ostensibly to take notes but in actuality just to not have to be alone with a bunch of bureaucrats.

And then, there are some days he's instructed to drive around Pawnee with a clipboard and Chord Overstreet in tow, stop at all the parks with playgrounds, and test how effective the slides are on a scale of "sticky" to "swooooshh!" and cannot believe that this is his _job_.

"Come to The Bulge," says April, turning to him and pinning him with her scary, intense eyes.

"I, uh..."

Letting his spoon sink abandoned into his pink yogurt, Chris tries to fish quickly for an excuse. It's pretty much the kiss of death to say you're not into Mouse Rat...

"Come, Chris," April says, her eyes boring into his. "Don't be lame. Even Ben is coming."

"I'll think about it," says Chris. He tacks on, "Very seriously."

"Bring Chord or something," April tells him, turning back to Chris's copy of _TIME_.

"No," Chris responds flatly.

"Well, you wanna totally make out with him. Just lure him to The Bulge and get it over with."

"Oh my God," Chris mutters, and grabs at the files he assured Ron he'd stall making copies of for as long as possible. April's just smirking at him, and Donna's got her sassy smile on, and thank God Leslie's in her office eating lunch with Ben (and also some old guy who came in at eight-thirty sharp to complain about the water in the fountains tasting brassy and who has apparently not finished talking about it yet), because she would want to do the girl-talk thing.

It's kind of not a secret anymore that Chris is pining after Chord. Well, you know, not pining. Just... crushing. A lot. In complete futility.

All the girls know. And Tom. Because he and Tom are, like, honorary girls, whether they want to be or not. But Tom's a total gossip. He loves to have the dirt. It's just a good thing Chord mostly works out in the lobby at the shoe shine stand and just comes into the department when nobody needs their shoes shined and he's bored and wants to talk sports and guitar stuff with Andy. Chris might be totally obvious to the ladies of the department, but at least he can depend on Ron, Andy, Jerry, and Chord to all be varying degrees of clueless.

It's not even a sensical thing. Or a real thing. For a lot of reasons. You know, like Chris Traeger's no-dating policy. Oh, and the fact that Chord isn't into guys might have a little something to do with it, too.

Regardless, Chris has the best days when he's supposed to be hanging a banner and needs Chord to spot him on the ladder, but neither of them know where to get a ladder so they literally just wander the building, opening every door and speculating what's behind this door, that door – oh! Women's restroom!

It's the best when Ron says, "Do not, under any circumstances, allow anyone to contact me today. I do not have the time to deal with any surprises," and goes into his office to whittle, and Chris casually rigs the phone to look like it's on the hook when it's actually off the hook and slips off to ask Chord to help him staple signs around town for the Who's Guy Fawkes Anyway?? Besides A Good Excuse For A Bonfire!! Night at Ramsett Park.

The highlights of Chris's work weeks tend to be the days when Chord brings him a Diet Coke from the soda machine in the hall. (He brings Donna and Andy stuff too, so it's not like special attention.) Or, like, the days where Chord will do what April does and sit on the edge of Chris's desk and toss a miniature football back and forth with Andy, while Chris pretends to work but really he's just listening to the conversation and stockpiling stuff Chord says about the Packers or the Cowboys. It's stuff he'll never even try to talk with Chord about, but he listens anyway, memorizes team rankings and the names of players.

It always makes the day better when he totes his little stylish earth-friendly reusable lunch case out to the lobby and finds Chord there with his paper sack and they combine lunches, trading half-sandwiches and sharing single packets of fruit snacks.

The truth is, there's not too much for Chris to do besides write and hold Ron's calls, unless there's a big event coming up or Leslie delegates him a task from her overflowing to-do list. And Chord doesn't really shine that many pairs of shoes a day, either. So if he can, Chris will make a stop by the shoe shine stand, too, or he'll snag Chord for a mini task force and have him doing things totally outside his job description.

Like once, after a few incidents involving terrified children soiling themselves at the sight of the old one, Chris and Chord spent a week making a new scarecrow that was to casually sit out on the bench in front of the department. Chord had the overalls and the flannel shirt and knew where to get burlap bags for free, and Chris knew where to get the needle and twine and craft paint. Chris sewed him together; Chord helped stuff him; Chris painted his face; together they hauled him onto the bench. They then decided a fake banjo would help keep homeless people from using his lap for a pillow or... other things like that, so they spent an extra two days in the courtyard constructing one out of cheap plywood with Ron watching them out the window and scratching his chin in idle interest.

The poor scarecrow just got its head ripped off on Halloween, but for a couple weeks he was kind of the star of Pioneer Hall. It had been high-five worthy. Leslie was so stoked that she had monikered them "Dream Team," a title which became embarrassing in the ensuing weeks where all they were doing was writing a coming-of-age comedy and shining shoes, separately.

On December first Chris and Chord hung Christmas lights around Leslie's office together. Leslie likes to out-decorate the other departments, so they got a Christmas tree and everything, and Chord helped Chris cut out snowflakes to tape to windows. For the Parks-sponsored tree lot, Chris was recruited to be an elf and donned a jolly costume of his own design. He used the scraps to create a matching hat with a jingle bell on the end of it and gave it to Chord. Wherever he went, Chris could hear him jingling. Despite Leslie's gleeful shout of, "Dream Team! Santa's Dream Team!" Chord had worn the hat around until it had gotten lost somehow.

Chord's birthday was in February, uncomfortably close to Valentine's Day (better known to Chris as Singles Awareness Day). The Parks department gave him a ukulele. This was an idea spear-headed by Leslie and Chris, but Chris had melted into the background as Leslie presented it to him and he hugged her happily – and Donna – and Andy – and even Jerry.

It's the worst/best/worst/best... best, worst, best... worst crush Chris has ever had.

Really, Chris knows that while he's standing there at the Xerox machine and his mind is on stuff like refreshing Chord on the entire story of _The Wizard of Oz_ while they Frankenstein up a scarecrow because Chord ironically doesn't know the words to "If I Only Had A Brain," Chord's is probably just wandering freely, not pinned on anything. Chris really is just part of the scenery.

So, yeah, it's an open secret. Chris could be doing anything, not working a low-level desk job where the main skill he utilizes seems to be his general knack for crafts, but he sticks around because of his lame unrequited crush on the shoe-shine boy.

*

Towards the end of the day, Chris feels Ron staring at him through the glass windows of his office and gets up, knowing he's being summoned with Jedi-like mind powers. He shuts the door without being told to and Ron gestures that he may have a seat.

"Chris," says Ron, in his measured way, "I have been alerted that an email composed in sixteen-point font is about to go out to this entire department from Leslie saying that we are all invited to The Bulge to see Mouse Rat make a mockery of music tonight. In no way, shape, or form do I intend to do this. I have a... prior engagement. You are to make my excuses this evening."

"Oh, I'm not going," Chris says, startled.

Ron stares at him.

"You are gay, are you not?"

"Yes. But The Bulge isn't really my thing. I don't go there by default."

"My mistake. Look, we can't both get out of this. Everyone of import is going."

"So, what, are you hanging out with Jerry tonight, then? Is that why you can't go?"

"Chris," repeats Ron. "Normally I prize your thorough attention to detail when it comes to making sure everything around me runs at, shall we say, an optimal pace, like that of a snail, while ensuring that Leslie still gets to run everything else at her more breakneck hamster-on-crack pace. So when I say this, know that it is both a compliment and a warning: Don't be April with me on this."

"Duly noted."

"Leave early if you want, but put in an appearance. Stay for three songs, have one drink. Tell Andy he's the next... Crash Test Dummy."

"Do you mean, like, the band, or the actual dummy?"

"That, I do not know."

"I'll go with band, but I think he'd take either."

"This is why you're indispensable to me. You have the people skills and awareness of popular culture required to keep the hordes at bay, yet you spend almost as little as I do on new clothes per year. You strike a fine balance, my son."

"No need to suck up. I didn't really know if I could make it till the end of the day without getting roped into going, anyway," Chris sighs.

He and Ron sit in a semi-awkward and yet somehow semi-companionable silence for a long moment; Ron just stares towards the floor, hands folded, and Chris launches into a fantasy about that one drink making him tipsy enough to grind with some guy on the dance floor. (Andy's playing grindable music in the fantasy.)

But probably what will happen will be something like what went down at the Senior Center Hoedown, when Leslie had pestered Ben into dancing with Chris to some fiddle-laden song that seemed to go on for all eternity. It had been awkward and Ben had apologized and tried to be really gallant but had just somehow made it more awkward, and apologized again on Leslie's behalf, and stepped on his foot once and apologized again for that. While somewhat humiliating, Chris hadn't wanted to reject the gesture – he knew Leslie didn't mean it as a pity gesture even though it felt so much like one, and Ben was a government official so it was really big of him to be seen dallying as such with a guy – so he'd just said, "Oh, no! It's okay, I don't mind."

Ron clears his throat.

"Bring someone with you. If you want," he suggests, looking awkward.

Chris just tries to find whatever Ron was looking at in the ugly tiled floor.

Who would he bring to The Bulge? All those friends he made in school? All the hot guys he's stringing along? Right. Pretty much everyone he knows is going.

Except Jerry.

And he's not bringing Jerry.

***

The Bulge is full of guys all jumping to some song Chris hasn't heard because he secretly has Nickelback songs on his iPod. A lot of them are wearing glowstick necklaces as they bounce around in skin-tight t-shirts, and the effect itself is like a strobe light, and Chris can't picture these guys bouncing around to Mouse Rat.

He's got Donna chair-dancing to his right with a row of shot glasses in front of her – two down and five to go, besides the one she's got in her hand. He's got April texting on his left and Ben and Leslie right across from him, splitting an absolutely huge fruity margarita and having a loud but serious debate over the idea of trying out for _The Amazing Race_ together, which apparently involves a lot of fun emergency hypotheticals.

"Whaaaat if we're in the Amazon, and I break my leg tripping over a ginormous tree root?" Leslie asks.

"There's three options I can immediately see," Ben says, looking entirely too thoughtful. "One, I carry you on my back to the next location. Two, we make a splint out of wood and vines. Three –"

"He puts you down. Like a horse," April interrupts.

"Well, I guess that _is_ an option," says Leslie.

Across the room, Ann is chatting with some guy at the bar who's probably gay, but she's already a bit sweaty and tipsy so either she doesn't realize it or doesn't care; apparently she used to date Andy a long time ago and Mouse Rat shows take her back and make her relive the whole relationship and breakup. Bummer.

Chris Traeger showed up in his jogging gear (Chris Colfer guesses he probably ran here) and is happily talking cardio with a couple of guys. Chris isn't sure whether their interest is legitimately in running or Chris's skin-tight gear, but either way, there's a lot of beaming going on over there. Chris Traeger just has that effect on people.

Tom's got his friend Jean-Ralphio with him and they're both slicked up, borderline _A Night at the Roxbury_ , head-bobbing identically near the exit. Chris has only met Jean-Ralphio twice, but is familiar enough with him to know that he hits on anything even vaguely female, so either Ann is in grave danger or any of the guys here with long hair are. Still, in that getup, sticking to each other like creepy glue, they pretty much look like the gayest couple in the entire room.

Leslie grabs Chris's arm. "Chris, if I request Madonna, will you dance?"

"Oh, wow, twenty-first birthday flashbacks," says Chris. It's almost post-traumatic. He can't deny Leslie, though. She has that manic look in her eye. "Sure! Why not!"

"Don't let her steam-roll you, Chris," Ben says.

*

Leslie does an actual _pshh_ that blows a blond curl out of her eyes. She's a couple drinks into her evening.

"Pshh! I can't steam-roll Chris! He's so plucky! Roll over him and he'll pop right back up atcha. Like a raccoon. You think you ran it over, but... no. You can't kill those suckers. Not in Pawnee."

*

"Oh, yeah, I love Mouse Rat. I'm really not sick of them at all. When I taught Andy how to balance his checkbook, he was so excited that he wrote me a song. It's called 'All About the Benjamin.' It's really quite the honor to serve as Andy's muse alongside cherished Pawnee institutions like Li'l Sebastian and The Pit and our broken microwave."

It's super hard to tell whether Ben is being serious or not. Like... super hard.

*

"Yes. I am totally stoked to play... THE BULGE," says Andy, Caps Lock inherent. He's wrangled at least three glowstick necklaces for himself. Certainty zips back out of reach, though. "You know, April said this was a gay bar, but I don't see _any_ lesbians here. Like, none. But I can fix this. For Christmas, my lovely wife gave me a gift certificate, 'good for one free girl-on-girl make out session.'"

It's somewhat elaborately done in purple marker, and bent in half from where it's been in Andy's wallet for months. The fine print reads: _OFFER VOID IN CASE OF ANN OR BAD MOOD OR SHE HAS CRAPPY TASTE IN MUSIC._

"Ho, ho, _ho_!" It's a mix between a Santa laugh and a triumphant villain laugh, or perhaps the laugh of a satisfied FBI agent who's just got his man. "April is an awesome gift-giver. She knows me, and she knows my love of exciting bedroom games... outside of the bedroom. I might just have to cash this baby in. I mean, it expires pretty soon, so. I really ought to use it."

*

"Oh, I guess you guys overheard that, huh? That is true. Exclusive to you guys: I'm opening for Mouse Rat. My first ever live show!"

Chord still isn't used to talking into the camera one-on-one, so he looks kind of hyped and unsettled. It might be the imminent performance, though. The backstage area of The Bulge isn't a backstage at all, so Chord's just lingering in the hallway by the bathrooms, which is not the best place to tune one's guitar.

"No, I've never played a live show. Not a real show, like on a stage. I used to go and play in the park sometimes – like, I'd sit under a tree or at a picnic table and just play for hours, and people would throw change into my guitar case, and that's how I got a job. I guess I broke some kind of ordinance about the number of John Mayer songs you can play in one day, or something. So Leslie showed up and told me I had to have her permission to play in the parks and if I needed money I could come shine shoes downtown."

There aren't a lot of ropes to shoe-shining. It's pretty much a simple process.

A lot of the time people just seem to want to talk to someone, so Chord listens to people complain about the government, about their jobs, about their spouses, about rap music and crime and Joan Calamezzo's book club selections. ("It should have been _The Bible_!") Sometimes they just want to sit with their laptops open while they get their shoes shiny. Sometimes people buy the paper or a Sweetums bar from the stand, so he's kind of a checker, too. And he also sweeps up, so... he might technically be a janitor as well.

During the work day it can get quiet while potential customers are packed into meetings and shut up in their offices, so Chord has time to sit on the counter with his guitar and work on his songs and swing by the Parks and Rec department.

Donna's always really nice to him. Chris usually has something funny to show him on the internet. Andy has a wide selection of balls crammed in his desk drawers, so they'll throw one back and forth for a few minutes. Tom always asks him how things with the ladies are, and Chord never has an answer other than, "Oh, you know!"

Anyway, Andy says his official title is "shoe shinist," but Chris says he should re-title it to something like "professional pedal polisher" or "wing-tip serviceman." Chris has a crazy way with words. Chord's been working up the nerve to let Chris hear his.

"It's really awesome to work downtown. Yeah. I grew up on a farm, so I like hard work. I'm not afraid of it. I like to get in there and do whatever needs to be done and I don't mind getting dirty. I love the outdoors. I love the parks. I played, like, every sport they offered. I love sports.

"And working here, I get to do all kinds of stuff. Last week Ron taught me how to set up a grill, like a homemade one... in a fire pit. Which is great because I have a fire pit in my apartment that I, like, never get to use."

(It's a joke. Sometimes with Chord, you don't know.)

*

"I do not know why you had to follow me here to talk to me about this, but since you are here, I'll lay the love down on you and rub it in deep." 

It's Duke Silver, and this is his night at Cozy's.

"Chord is a good, sturdy young man of ideal height and build, and I feel no shame in stopping by his stand for a shine. He's a bit of an optimist, but give him another six months. He has all the makings of an ideal government employee. I particularly like his tendency to run late and waste time in lengthy creative projects that benefit exactly no one."

Taking a week to build a simple scarecrow comes to mind.

"But the point is, Chord... is harmless. I intend to teach him to harm, but first things first. A little smooth sax. The Duke is here to pleasure your ear."

*

"Yeah, when Andy found out I played guitar, we had a hallway jam session. But we were busted by Leslie... again. For a while, I thought maybe I just really sucked, but Andy says I'm good, so all I know is, I can't wait to open for him tonight. It's just a huge honor."

A pause. The beat of whatever dance anthem thumps on in the background; Chord looks weirdly apart from his surroundings. Still, he continues:

"I haven't actually been asked to join Mouse Rat, but me and Andy did form a supergroup."

*

Andy: "Oh! The supergroup!! It's so badass. Just so creative and fulfilling, in an experimental side-project kind of way. It's just a place where me and Chord go together to explore our feelings and our sensitive sides and do sweet, sweet harmonies and sing like baby angels. The name's an ongoing work in progress, though. Right now it's Doublemint Twinkie, but before that, it was Candy Cops... Candy for Chord and Andy, Cops because we were wearing our awesome aviator shades."

"Just Two Dudes."

"Blowpop."

"Shiner Convention."

"Shoeshineheads."

"The Killgrits."

"Hung Like Li'l Sebastian."

"Pushpop."

"Acoustic Avenue."

"Five Bucks None The Richer."

*

Chord: "Uh, May-December Romance." 

"The Plaidshirts."

"Scarecrow Suicide."

"Scarecrow Resurrection."

"Easter Erection."

"Power Tool."

"Pterofractal."

"Happy Face."

"Ultimate Overdwyer."

*

Andy: "And for one glorious half-day we were The Pawnee Goddesses, but... Leslie wasn't down with it.

"Yeah, it has actually been brought to my attention that Chord is apparently 'dreamy?' To some people, very handsome. I have heard Donna call his ass 'fine.' Jerry once referred to him as 'precious' and it made me want to barf. So that's all well and good for Chord, but there's only room for one fine ass in Mouse Rat. I'm the face of Mouse Rat, and the ass."

*

"Come on, Chris," Leslie's saying. "Madonna! Madonna!"

Andy bounds right up to them like a gigantic puppy with something stuck on its nose.

"Hey, guys! Hey, Chris! Oh, man, such a bummer that Ron couldn't come. But I'm so glad you made it, buddy! We're gonna pop your Mouse Rat cherry tonight, man. Consider it busted!"

Chris blinks rapidly in alarm.

"Oh, hey, uh, April... it's time to introduce the opening act."

"Ugh, Andy..."

"There's an opener? Who's the opening act?" Leslie asks.

"Ha _ha_! Leslie. You will be so excited. But please don't stop him this time. Honey, seriously, I can't intro my own opening act... aaand the DJ's ignoring me. You're Mouse Rat's manager and you have the best evil glare. Pleeeeease."

"You're lucky I love Candy Cops," April says, slouching off towards the DJ booth.

"Oh, honey! Doublemint Twink now! Remember?"

"You mean 'Twinkie,'" Ben attempts to call after Andy, but Andy's excitedly hopping after April. Ben turns back to the table. "He meant to say 'Twinkie.' Not that... that's a lot better..."

"Wow! An opening act, that's huge!" Leslie says. "Usually no one wants to open for Andy's band. Or they're the ones opening."

"I didn't know there were going to be two bands," Chris says. His plans to catch the tail end of the _Real Housewives_ marathon on Bravo are starting to seem far-fetched, like a silly dream. It's rude to check his watch, so he does so as subtly as he can. Oh, God, he's only been here for twenty-six minutes, but it seems like so much more.

"Just you wait. This is gonna be goooood," Donna says, and sure enough, she's whipped out her phone to prepare the camera.

Chris makes a face.

"I need another drink," he says, and with April gone he's no longer lady-locked, so he slips away quickly to weave around Chris Traeger and his huddle of athletic admirers and join Ann – who's sitting there by herself, given a wide berth by all the guys – at the bar.

"Chris," Ann says sadly. "Why are all the good ones gay?"

"Probably because you're at a gay bar," says Chris.

"At a gay bar. With – not one, but two of my ex-boyfriends. Wanna do a shot with me?"

"Might as well. I don't think I'm going anywhere soon. Remind me to kill Ron."

"Will do."

Ann slaps at the bar and orders them tequila shots, and Chris glances around, feeling his usual detachment, which maybe he can get to go away with enough alcohol, who knows. He sees tie-dyed t-shirts, tattoos (he's seen at least two tramp stamps; are they serious?), guys that are too old, guys that are too young, shirtless guys in leather vests, even a guy wearing ice... and of course, Ben. Ben is probably the cutest guy there – not because of his looks, but because he's not skeezing on anyone and Chris knows he's over there just being his neurotic too-serious self, contentedly wrapped up in Leslie's crazy. Ben's not just interested in Leslie for her looks. He loves her energy and her forty thousand interests and ability to pull off crazy ideas. They _work_ together, in both senses of the word. That's what Chris wants. Not this. Chris is just detached, disinterested in this whole scene, the whole idea of meeting his... okay, not future husband, maybe, but his future life partner next to a cubist light-up table on The Bulge's pathetic excuse for a dance floor, in Pawnee, Indiana. It's not that he doesn't like dancing. He does.

"You know, Ann, I have the opposite problem," he says suddenly.

"What, so... what, you have multiple boyfriends?"

"Ha! No. I mean, for me, all the good ones are straight."

"Oh," says Ann, a bit unsympathetically, and as they are pretty much literally surrounded by gay guys, he can kind of get the sentiment. Over the music, she calls, "I have an amazing idea! Let's trade problems."

"Deal!" says Chris. They get their tequila shots just in time to clink to it. The music goes off as the alcohol heats up Chris's chest, and he mutters to no one in particular, "Oh, I am so not drunk enough for this."

He raps his knuckles on the bar, and luckily the bartender's attentive enough to refill his shot glass while the room rumbles with a few disappointed moans and a general ripple of confusion.

"Gay Pawnee." The mic picks up feedback along with April's monotone. "In a few short minutes, Mouse Rat will take the stage and your faces will all be rocked. But first, here's a guy. His name is Chord Overstreet and he wants to play you some of his gay music."

Chris chokes. He just chokes, almost doing a spit-take, tequila very nearly burning its way up his nose. Ann's nurse instincts must be overriding her buzz, because she's immediately pounding on his back.

"You okay?"

"Chord is here?" Chris sputters, gasping for breath. He can't even look toward the stage. "Ann – Ann – is it Chord?"

"Gosh. Six foot, blond hair, big lips, shines shoes? That Chord?" Ann asks dryly.

Chris rolls himself over clumsily on the spot, falling back against the bar as he sees a familiar blond head against the cheap shine of the metallic curtain on stage, purple light glinting off it. Everyone on the dance floor is in the way – the stage is only about six inches off the ground – but Chris can hear the nervousness in Chord's voice as he says, "Hello. Uh, thanks, April! So... this song... I, uh, I actually wrote for someone here. Okay. No going back now. Here we go."

There's some really upbeat strumming, then, and Chris can see Chord rocking back, throwing himself into what he's playing, then leaning into the mic to sing to a crowd of men who are just staring at him.

And even though he's walked by Chord strumming on his guitar or his ukulele many times, Chris has never actually heard the voice that slips out of Chord then.

It's... sweet. Boyish. But he doesn't sound like the tenors in the youth choirs Chris grew up singing in. He doesn't sound like Chris when he sings. Chris literally sounds like a little boy when he sings – Chris Traeger told him so. He's gotten Mickey Mouse before, too. And, weirdly, Cher. But Chord sounds like he should be in a teenybopper magazine, mass-marketed by some sketchy record exec as the boy next door, posing against a sky blue background with his hand on his chin, or like, on top of a wooden crate... with a basketball for some reason.

Chris stares, forgetting to actually listen to the words until many have already passed Chord's lips.

> _...through the window_  
>  I walk by just to see your face  
>  And seeing you sit there  
>  Sunlight in your dark hair  
>  My heart's in its place 
> 
> _All you that you are, all you will ever be_  
>  Is the perfect boy, the perfect boy to me  
>  All that you say and all that you do  
>  Makes me want a chance with you  
>  Every day, I like you more and more  
>  A little more  
>  Every day 

The atmosphere in The Bulge shifts noticeably as Chord leans back and takes a breath, looking sweaty already. A few heads are bobbing, but Chord just shuts his eyes and pours himself into the next verse.

> _Times we laugh at the same jokes_  
>  Times we both have the same hopes  
>  I think that you're my kind  
>  Do you know about me  
>  How come you're leaving without me  
>  I'm begging, don't leave me behind 
> 
> _All you that you are, all you will ever be  
>  Is the perfect boy, the perfect boy to me..._

Chris can feel Ann's hand on his back.

"Him too?" she demands, aghast. "Really? Chris. Am I the last person in the whole department to know Chord is gay?"

"He's not gay," Chris says automatically. He isn't even thinking. That's just pure reflex.

"Um, really? 'Cause I'm pretty sure he's up there singing his heart out about a perfect boy to a crowd of gay men. At a gay bar."

For the split second Chris can tear his eyes away from the drunk mirage that's happening on the stage, he looks dizzily at Ann, who looks at him with some measure of what he takes to be pity.

"F*** me," Chris utters.

*

Chord's song gets some polite, confused applause and some extra-loud clapping sprinkled with "Yay! Yay, Chord! Great job!" that Chris knows is coming from Leslie. (The wolf whistle: Donna.)

He can hear Chord laugh sheepishly into the microphone. There's a slightly awkward pause, then Chord says, "Sing along if you know it," and launches right into his next song.

Without other instruments, it takes The Bulge a minute to recognize it, but once they do, there's a few cheers and a bunch of them join in, and it's a bunch of gay guys – and Leslie – singing with Chord to "9 to 5," and Chris reels between shock that this is still actually happening and a sense of utter bemusement that Chord chose to jauntily cover Dolly Parton and is kind of doing it with aplomb.

It's only when Leslie practically jumps him and Ann that Chris realizes all at once that he's apparently frozen in shock.

"You guys! Isn't this great? Didn't you love that song? Hmm? Chris? The song? The song? What did you think of the song? Wasn't it a great song?"

"It was a great song," echoes Chris, his voice floating separate from him.

"Ohh, Chris! Did you really like it? I'm so happy!"

She hugs him, and he has no idea why, except she is also drunk. Ann clutches at Leslie's shoulder and tugs her back again.

"Leslie, what the heck? Is anyone else in the Parks department gay and I just don't know it? Seriously, is my gaydar completely busted? Have I ever even had a gayd –" Ann cuts herself off with her own loud gasp. "Oh my _God_. Are Tom and Jean-Ralphio –"

"What? No! Them? No, no! Well... ehh."

"Excuse me," says Chris on autopilot, and pushes away, getting himself lost in a crowd of guys. He searches for April but his eyes find Chord up on the stage and stick to him. It's like he's a stranger up there, not the guy who tells him to make wishes on Sweetums trucks. A little closer, he can see Chord better, see him smile toothily at the guys who are literally less than a foot from him as he sings. That familiar smile practically breaks his nose, it hits him so hard, like the football and Marcia Brady – just a smack of bone-breaking hope and disappointment at the same time, paradigm-shifting clarity not meshing neatly with all the confusion.

He's seen Chord every day at work for the better part of a year and he didn't ever know? Didn't ever realize or sense it, not once? How is that even possible? And are those wheat-gold highlights in Chord's hair _fake_?

"Wow. You guys are awesome," Chord says factually, like the whole crowd is made up of his bros. "Thanks so much for coming out tonight and letting me play for you. Just one more song and I'll get off this stage and let Mouse Rat take it."

Chris can feel other people's cologne and body glitter and cigarette smoke smell rubbing off of them and into his clothes as he worms his way blindly through the crowd. April's nowhere in sight.

Suddenly he can't stand any of this for another second. He didn't want to come here tonight anyway, and now everything's just different all of a sudden. He wants to just quit his job, hand in his two weeks notice to Ron and remove himself from the strange pain of knowing that Chord's been gay all this time and never told him and obviously never liked Chris the way Chris likes him. The exit's so close that he makes an automatic beeline for it.

"Whoa, hold up! Where you goin'?" Tom calls at him. "Chris!"

Chris does pause for a second, but just to make sure he's got his phone and to fumble in somewhat drunk confusion for his car keys. He probably won't be able to drive for another half an hour, but he can at least go hide in his car.

"Check it out, check it out. K-to-tha-R-to-tha-I-S-S, you a Kardash up in all this mess, keepin' it class with that notorious ass –"

"Whoa, whoa. Jean-Ralphio. So many questions. One, are you rapping about Kriss Kross, Kris Jenner, Kris Humphries, Chris Traeger, ooor Chris Colfer?"

*

"Oh my gosh, it was awesome, playing out there, seeing everyone... awesome. It felt..."

Chord shakes his head. He's sweating through his plaid button-up and grabs at its wide-open collar to tug and fan it, then presses his forearm up to his forehead to wipe the sweat away.

"Man," he says thickly.

"Hey," says April. The camera swings over to her; she comes up to Chord and clasps his arm. "That was awesome. You did so good. I'm proud of you."

There's something about her monotone that's gentle.

"Thanks," Chord says, and wraps her up in a sudden hug that makes her eyes bulge a little. He gets an awkward pat on his broad back for it.

***

Flashback to April and Andy's first visit to the shoe-shine stand.

"Chord? Dude, that is a kickass name!" says Andy. Immediate bros for life.

"Thanks. My dad's a musician and I'm the third kid, so."

Andy gapes. "Genius."

"You look like Shiloh Pitt from the future," says April, in her unnerving and blatant way. "You even kinda dress like her."

*

Chord, in the middle of shining Kyle's rained-on shoes, beams and stops the moment he sees Chris strolling into Pioneer Hall, closing his umbrella and shaking it out over the plastic mat set into the floor. April's chilling in one of the chairs with her phone out, waiting for Andy to scrounge her up some breakfast because Ben is sick of making it for them and is getting all lecturey and stuff.

"Hey! Raining pretty hard out," Chord says, raising his hand up high over his head, and Chris smiles, a tight but polite it's-nine-A.M.-and-I-don't-want-to-be-here kind of smile as he passes by. Chord pretends to be hurt. "You're leaving me hanging, huh?"

"Rain check," calls Chris.

"Okay, you can owe me," Chord says, staring after him and watching as he rounds the corner.

Kyle slaps at Chord's hand.

"Whoa, Kyle, are you that desperate?" April sneers.

*

"Are you guys Team Edward or Team Jacob?" Ann asks as they file out of the movie, which April was interested in seeing because she'd heard Robert Pattinson chews his own demonic child out of Kristen Stewart's womb. Disappointing.

"Team Jacob, definitely," Chord replies without hesitation.

"Oh, yeah. Team Jacob," Chris agrees, squinting in the abrupt sunlight. Chord wants a high-five. Chris gives him one.

"Team demon baby," April says.

"Really? I'm the only one on Team Edward?" Ann asks.

"No one asked you," April says severely.

*

"So what is it really? Collagen? Pawnee honeysuckle? Or are you allergic to yourself?"

Chord just laughs.

"Has anyone ever asked you if you have DSL?" April asks pointedly.

"I think I have wi-fi," Chord says. "Well, my neighbors do. I just use that."

April looks at the camera.

*

Senior Center Hoedown. Chord chose to come in cowboy boots and a shirt that makes him look more like a lumberjack than anything else. He and April dance half-heartedly while Ben and Chris spin terribly across the room, with Leslie making triumphant fists over at their table.

"You should go save Chris from Ben's lameness," April says.

Chord swerves his head so he can stare over at them for a second.

"I don't..."

"Are you scared?"

"No, not... scared, you know, just," Chord says. Patches of red are glowing on his cheeks.

"Your palms are sweating," says April. "It's gross."

*

Tree lot. April's no longer in danger of being drafted as an elf. Now it's all on Chris. Chord wears this stupid jingling hat all around, so people keep mistaking him for an elf even though he's just helping people carry Christmas trees out to their cars and stuff. It keeps sliding off his blond head but Chord keeps easing it back into place carefully.

"I hate jingle bells," April says, watching Chord jog to Leslie for some instructions.

"They are only acceptable on an actual sleigh, sledge, or similar horse-drawn vehicle," Ron responds agreeably. They tap their paper cups of hot chocolate together. "I'll have to confiscate that hat so I don't constantly feel like it's 1846 and I'm about to be run over."

"Wait," she says quickly. "Chris made it for him."

"By hand?" Ron asks, brows lifting with interest.

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Did he forge the bell also?"

"I don't know," says April, though she doubts anybody in Pawnee but Ron could do something like forge a big gold jingle bell. "But just... you should just let him keep it till the lot closes. Like, I think it makes him happy, or whatever. Him and Chris... they're... whatever."

Ron's eyes shift.

"Ah, yes," he acknowledges. "While it's none of my business, it's always nice to know my instincts are correct."

*

Valentine's Day.

April gives everybody voodoo dolls... of each other. Leslie thinks it's adorable and proceeds to enthusiastically stick her Ann doll and then call her to ask her if she felt it. Tom immediately takes his Jerry doll out to burn it in one of the grills. Ann puts her Ron Swanson doll on display. Weirdo. (But it is a masterpiece.)

"Uh, that's pretty creepy," Chord comments, when she gives him his. "Thanks."

"Anytime." She stares him down until he blinks at her, and she presses, "Well? Does it look enough like him for you?"

Chord's thumb rubs briefly against the royal blue felt April cut out for the doll's cardigan, examining it all a little closer, down to the smile done in red stitches and the eyes done in green.

"His eyes are blue."

"So, like, seriously, on a scale of, like, one to ten, just how gay for Chris are you?"

Chord blinks at her, totally taken aback.

"Like, a billion?" April asks. "Or what?"

***

"April's the only one who had me figured out," Chord says. "Till tonight. I guess it's all out there in the open now."

*

"Oh, yeah. Yeah. Chord? I called that," says Leslie.

"She did call that," Ben agrees. "Months ago."

"You owe me a new nine iron!" cheers Leslie.

"I do," Ben nods.

*

"I never in a million years would have guessed that Chord is gay," Tom says. "He dresses terrible! He's literally a farm boy. Once, he wore a bandana and a cowboy hat at the same time. A BANDANA."

*

"I MEAN... _CHORD_?" Ann demands, sloshing her drink.

*

Outside The Bulge, it's kind of balmy, and the air's sweet except for the tint of cigarette smoke that seems to linger there in the doorway permanently. Sometimes the wind carries in the smell from the Sweetums factory.

Chris is sitting slumped on the hood of his cute little blue hybrid, staring at his keys in his hand and trying to think. He thinks about all the times he'd been expecting to suddenly hear that Chord had a girlfriend he'd been dating since high school and never did. He thinks about the times he lamented casually over his own perpetual singlehood, thought fleetingly of Chord, and dismissed everything. He thinks about Chord bringing him Diet Cokes and high-fiving him and this one time he let Chris feel his bicep while he flexed.

Seriously? All that time?

The guttural sound of Mouse Rat spills out into the parking lot, and Chord trips out of The Bulge, hands shoved into his the pockets of his jeans. Chris's posture stiffens somewhat.

"You leaving already?" Chord calls, jogging right over to him.

"Yeah, I think I'm heading out. But you did a great job in there," is what Chris says, amicable and capable. Even kind of drunk, he has this unflappable sense of what's proper to say, what's effective and diplomatic and will make everything run smoothly. He smiles at Chord, even though it hurts to use those muscles somehow.

Chord stops in front of him and takes a deep breath, returning the smile sheepishly.

"Chord, why didn't you just tell me?" Chris bursts.

After a slightly awkward pause, Chord says, "'Cause I didn't know." He clearly sees Chris's face knit up with doubt, because he adds, "April... April told me. And I guess I did know it. I just never _thought_ about it. It sounds totally stupid, I know, but I just didn't think about it. I tried to, like... just... be..."

Normal. Straight. Like everybody else.

Chris nods slowly. He knows what this is like. Chord coming to grips with himself is far more important than Chris having feelings for him. This is not the time to be selfish and quit his job so he doesn't have to be crushing on this dunce in total futility forever. He can be supportive.

"I still don't really know how to do all this," Chord says vaguely, shuffling one foot. He's wearing his cowboy boots. While boots like that aren't a rare sight in Pawnee, since a lot of more rural areas feed into the town and there's a million fields of corn, it still makes Chris smile. "But, I just... like, I'm always trying to write songs, you know?"

"I know," Chris says, and Chord edges closer and takes a ginger seat next to Chris on the blue hood of his car. It's a small hood, but Chord doesn't crowd him.

"I kept trying to write songs about love and girls and stuff," Chord says. "But they just all sounded like they were about cars."

"You do drool over cars."

"Yeah, I do." Chord laughs, but it trails off and they sit there in silence for a moment. "But I finally wrote a song. Once I stopped trying to write about girls. Did you hear it?"

"Yeah. I heard it. It's about a guy you like, right?"

"Yeah."

A flicker of pity adds to the tangle of confusion that's making Chris's chest ache in a sloppy, messy, raw way. Chord's face is so red and he's just staring at the ground, at the bushes by the entrance to The Bulge, at license plates and whatever else. This kind of thing is hard. Chris knows better than anyone.

"It's actually about you," Chord says, making Chris's head snap up from its hang and his jaw slip open from its keep-it-together clench. "So... did you really like it, or was it really bad? If it was really bad, I'll just... go back to playing John Mayer songs."

Inside The Bulge, Mouse Rat is playing "Sex Hair."

"Don't do that," Chris says. "No one wants to hear that."

"Uh, you super-love 'My Body Is A Wonderland,'" Chord objects. "I remember you singing along with it."

"No. When?" Chris demands.

"When we drove out to Grain 'N Simple with Ann and The Traeg and got a bunch of wheat germ and stuff so there could be healthy options at that, uh, Obesity Prevention Buffet. It was on the radio."

"Oh, God, okay. I remember now," Chris relents, grinning. More than that, he remembers Chord knocking over a display of Health Boost packets for protein shakes and then insisting on picking it all up and putting them back. Chris had helped, and Chris Traeger had said, "Leslie is absolutely correct. You two, Chris Colfer and Chord Overstreet, really are a Dream Team."

Chord tells him, "I heard you singing when you did the Follies with everybody too. You sing good."

"I did musical theater and stuff growing up," says Chris. Then he shakes his head, because Chord's just told him he _likes him_ , right? This seems like the most surreal conversation to be having, talking about John Mayer's song and Chris's singing instead of Chord's song and Chord's singing.

"In... Clovis, right?" Chord asks, surprising Chris out of the odd feeling. "California?"

"How'd you know that?"

"You said so when we were making our scarecrow."

"And you remembered?"

"You'll have to tell me more about Clovis sometime," Chord says, smiling smugly.

"Oh, no. No. There's nothing to tell. It's like the Pawnee of California, but with more cows. And less night life, believe it or not."

"Well, I want to, uh – I wanna take you out," Chord gets out, looking at him nervously. "Anyway. On a date."

"...Yes," Chris blurts, like this is a marriage proposal or something. "Okay. That sounds fun. I'm not supposed to date a fellow government employee. But I want to. I want to go on a date with you. I don't care about the rule. I can quit my job. I keep talking. I'll stop."

"Don't quit," Chord says, shaking his head seriously. "I'll quit."

"No, don't quit," Chris says immediately. "I'd miss you. Everybody would miss you. Andy would miss you. Think of Doublemint Twinkie!"

Chord laughs, and everything about him looks curled up with pleasure.

"That's such an awful name," he practically gloats.

"Well. Not everything can have a name like 'Dream Team,'" says Chris, enjoying Chord's uncorked laughter. The stilted awkwardness between them blows away. "So, was that song really about me?"

"Yes. It was. It is."

"It said something about me being perfect."

"Well, you are," Chord says, as if it's completely obvious.

*

Eventually, they go back inside to catch Mouse Rat's encore, and Chris stands in the crowd shoulder-to-shoulder with Chord. Guys keep coming up to them, touching Chord's arm and chest and saying stuff like, "Oh my God, honey, you are like Taylor Swift in Brad Pitt's body."

Chord could have his pick of this whole place, hook up with just about any guy he wanted. But Chord keeps looking at him, grinning crookedly, filling Chris with unreal-feeling hope and a smug thrill that he's the guy in the song... the perfect boy.

After a noisy prolonged beating of drums and extended strumming of guitar, Chris even applauds for Mouse Rat. Chord raises his hands over his head and whoops and yells, "YEAH!" and Andy really does look gratified at the number of guys who have taken their shirts off and waved their cell phones back and forth during "5,000 Candles" in memory of Li'l Sebastian (who was an icon in the gay community of Pawnee not just because he was beloved in general, but because of his tendency towards erections at unseemly times).

It's past midnight by the time The Bulge puts dance music back on, and Chord grabs Chris by the hands to dance with him, well aware that Donna is taking pictures and Chris Traeger is organizing an improbable game of volleyball with the gigantic penis balloon and just not caring about either of them, his job, or his future in politics, or anything. Chord's holding his hands and dancing with him like he's a toddler or something. He even twirls Chris around, smile exceedingly bright and face blissfully warm and pink. He's no better of a dancer than Ben, but even though it's so awkward and Chris can't stop laughing at him, it's just... right.

***

"So, a lot of rad things happened at the gig on Friday," Andy says. He's messing with his Koosh ball in a rather refined way. "I discovered that gay guys love songs about ****ing. Surprising... and also, not. I learned that Leslie is totally crazy when she's drunk. Yeah, I cashed in my gift certificate, so April full-on kissed Leslie! There was tongue!"

He looks so proud. And slightly weirded out?

"So... Ben is pretty mad at us. I guess he thought Leslie was a lesbian for real there for a minute, or something. And then, blah blah, something about respecting relationships and being inappropriate with co-workers. Haha, boring stuff like that. But he'll get over it. He'll probably be stingy about his leftovers for a few days, though.

"I also discovered that Chord is what they call a 'twink.' April told me all about it. I guess him and Colfer hooked it on up. Did not see that coming, although..." He looks quite seriously at the camera. "It's super-easy to fall in love when your soundtrack is Mouse Rat's Greatest Hits and B-Sides."

*

When Chord comes in that afternoon, it's with strawberry kiwi juice for Donna, a Red Bull for Andy, and a Diet Coke for Chris. He drops Donna's drink off to her and then looks at something on her phone – probably pictures from Friday, which Chris has already seen. There's a couple of him and Chord dancing like idiots, blurry but happy, and with the calm spring sunlight pouring through Chris's window now, it seems like that night was a fever dream.

Chord gets a solid knuckle-bump from Andy in exchange for the Red Bull, then he's free to put the Diet Coke down in front of Chris, grinning broadly.

"For you."

"Thank you," says Chris, smiling back and trying not to sound too flirtatious, but it is seriously hard, because Chord took him out on the most perfect date of all time. They went to the Pawnee Zoo and got to hold snakes and see the new baby chimp, then sat on the bench in Pawnee's Smallest Park and shared a lunch Chord had packed himself (featuring an odd assortment of soul food and health-nut food... and gummy worms), then went zip-lining.

Then they drove out to the mall in Eagleton because there's a huge trampoline there, the kind where they strap you into a harness and let you jump really high and do flips. Chris is all about anything with a harness.

Then, as Eagleton has a Target and Pawnee doesn't, they stopped at Target, where Chris was goaded into trying on a pair of cowboy-esque boots – which were cute on him, for the record, and made Chord say, "Look at your cute butt, too," – and they talked about their favorite movies and ravaged the toy aisle. Chord found small pirate cutlasses and they whapped each other with them.

Chris said, "You're lucky these are just plastic. I twirl sai swords. Those bitches will cut you."

"What, really?" Chord said, though he acted appropriately stabbed, letting his eyes roll back in his head when Chris jabbed him between the side and elbow.

"Yep. I bought 'em off eBay and taught myself tricks. I really wanted to be a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle when I was little."

He was utterly surprised when Chord surged forward and kissed him out of nowhere, one hand grasping him under the jaw. Chris had windmilled backwards and bumped into the shelf of toys and knocked a couple of packages of Legos or whatever off, but Chord backed him up right against the shelf, kissing his mouth insistently. He was warm and his lips were unreal, making Chris feel thoroughly ravaged right there in the toy aisle. After a minute Chris had realized that Chord had never kissed a guy before and dropped his cutlass in the aisle so he could wrap his arms around Chord's shoulders and make it the best kiss ever.

It's the way Chord kissed him, and then looked breathless and dizzy and like his world had been flipped upside-down, that Chris thinks of when Chord plants both hands on his desk and leans in temptingly.

"Donna won," he says, eyes warm and glowing.

"What?"

"The weight loss thing. The tickets to the Indy 500."

"Oh! Well, bully for you, Donna," says Chris, borrowing one of Ron's favorite phrases. Donna just sits back in her chair and smiles at Chris in total satisfaction. Or maybe she's looking at Chord's ass. She's probably looking at Chord's ass.

"I bought 'em off her," Chord says.

"What?" Chris repeats.

"I gave him a good deal," Donna says.

"I'm totally taking you," Chord says.

Chris stares up at him.

His expression must be dubious, because Chord amends, "We don't even have to watch the race, if that's not your thing. We could just check out Indianapolis."

"Yeah, actually, it sounds fun," Chris responds, surprising himself. "The race. Let's do it."

Beaming, Chord ducks in to kiss him, but catches himself leaning and stops, instead throwing out a hand for a high-five. Chris indulges him in one, and their palms stay flattened together for a sweet few seconds, then Chord's fingers curl over his and they're holding hands in mid-air.

"Chord!"

They break apart, this time slowly.

"Chord, Chord. Beautiful Chord. Come here, we need you," Leslie says, hanging out of her office like a rhesus monkey. Ben and April are in there with file folders and stuff, and Ben in particular looks like he has a headache, pinching the bridge of his nose. Tom's wearing noise-canceling headphones Chris recognizes as Ron's. Chord drifts over obediently, and Leslie says, "April and Ben and I, we need you for a think tank. It's really important. Can you do it, Chord?"

"Do a think tank?" Chord echoes, sounding impressed.

"Yeah. A think tank. It's where you get together with a group and research and weigh in on issues and policies and brainstorm ideas and cool stuff like that."

"You want me to weigh in?"

"Yes. We're very interested in your input on this topic."

"What's the topic?"

"Gay thoughts," says Leslie.

Chris laughs into his Diet Coke as Leslie's door shuts. It's no wonder Ben looks so serious.

"Man," says Andy as the phone in front of Chris rings. "Think Tank. Is it just me, or is that an awesome band name? Like, tanks, man! But thoughtful ones."

"I'm kind of partial to Doublemint Twinkie," Chris says, picking up. "Parks department, Ron Swanson's office... please hold."

He taps the hold button and then just puts the receiver down, then returns to his Scrabble game and plays the word "snoopers" against Tom for a billion points. Marcia Langman is just going to have to wait.

In his office, Ron's taken down his race car picture and put his breakfast food picture back up. Chris knows Ron would've loved to go to the Indy 500, but he doesn't look pissed. When he sees Chris looking at him he just smiles somewhere under that thick moustache of his and flashes him a thumbs-up.


End file.
